


Small Victories

by voodoochild



Category: Burn Notice
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Missing Scene, Multi, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-19
Updated: 2011-08-19
Packaged: 2017-10-22 19:46:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/241872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voodoochild/pseuds/voodoochild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam survives, Fiona is livid, and Michael's guilty. They have to savor the little wins now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Small Victories

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for 5x06, "Enemy of My Enemy".

She had gone back to the loft before she did something drastic, like shoot Michael in the head and tackle Sam to the ground in front of everyone.

That fucking idiot. Either of them. Both of them. Michael for putting Sam at the mercy of Carmelo and trusting the CIA to play cavalry, and Sam for blindly trusting in Michael and putting his life on the line for a country who'd thrown him out years ago. She feels like she's the only one who sees how dangerous this life is becoming.

She paces and worries and rages because she can't do anything else. She's played her part, backed up Jesse on sniper duty and worked with Maddie to find the impostor. There's nothing more she can do today, and she hates it. Hates feeling useless and nagging, like the millstone of responsibility dragging them down.

Imagine - a day when she was the responsible one.

The door creaks, and Fiona pivots in place, bringing her gun up. It's them, it's Michael through the door first, cargo pants still dripping water, hair all over the place, and Sam behind, mechanic's shirt soaked in sweat and blood that she doesn't want to be his. The livid burn that she gave him bright red on his forehead. But alive.

"Jesus," she spits, launching herself at Sam. "Don't you ever fucking do that again."

He catches her one-armed, CIA-issue glasses pressing against the top of her head. "Can't promise that. You know I can't."

There's a stinging in her eyes that she refuses to let develop into tears, and she clings to him harder. Michael is quiet behind them, ashamed and abashed, and as well he ought to be. He almost got Sam killed by heroin dealers, and they're going to have a nice long talk about that later. For now, Sam is safe.

"Do you know how hard it was to listen to Carmello and his guys almost shoot you dozens of times?" she asks.

Sam grumbles, shrugging out of the grimy mechanic's shirt. "Wasn't a freaking picnic on my end, either." He turns around, sees how quiet Michael is and how angry Fiona still is. "Hey, hey, come on. Both of you. This is what we do. The drone's back in CIA custody, Carmelo's cut his deal, I'm fine." He pulls Michael over by the belt, grip firm, and slouches down to look Michael in the eye. "Right, Mikey?"

Michael's eyes close and he slumps against them, face buried in Sam's shoulder. "I'm sorry. I didn't know it would get that bad."

"You got me out," Sam replies, hand lacing through Fiona's and bringing them up to touch Michael's face. "Sauntered in like the fucking cavalry. Did me proud."

Michael doesn't say anything, and neither does Fiona. It was too close; far, far, too close.


End file.
